


Double Tap

by ElliottWitt



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: (in which the decoy is the dom), Aftercare, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Decoy Sex, Decoys Are Horny Bastards, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Slight references to past depression, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, somehow this is pretty much entirely just sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26395270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliottWitt/pseuds/ElliottWitt
Summary: It had begun as just play, between Elliott and his decoys, whenever he found himself too wound up or caught up in his own head. Once he and Gibraltar entered a relationship together, that need had dissipated.But it turned out the decoys hadalsotaken an interest in Makoa.And to his surprise, it was becoming increasingly apparent the feeling was mutual.
Relationships: Makoa Gibraltar/Mirage | Elliott Witt, Makoa Gibraltar/Mirage | Elliott Witt | Elliott Witt's Decoys, Mirage | Elliott Witt/Mirage | Elliott Witt's Decoys
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	Double Tap

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, you read that right: this is 15k+ of pretty much just sex. I don't know what the hell happened.
> 
> Thank you so much to [Halo](https://twitter.com/TryAndMoveMe) for betaing this absolute monster fic for me! And the, uh, diagrams LMFAO. <3 As well to my favourite Apex Horny Crew for supporting me the whole way through and encouraging me to keep at it! Couldn't have done it with youse <3
> 
> CW for some alcohol use before sex, but no one's drunk. Also, Wraith and Ramya just have a cameo in the ending so either scroll on right to the end if you're here for that or click out ^^;

Elliott had noticed it first. 

Makoa always flushed an endearing shade of red every time the decoys lingered a little too close to him, skirted their fingers over his clavicle, looking him dead in the eye and licking their lips coyly.

He’d programmed them to be the perfect version of himself, after all -- someone to whom the entire facade of Mirage was _natural_ , but that had...triggered somewhat surprising, reverberating effects in the idealised echoes of himself.

Like during the closing hours, when Elliott was trying to shuffle out the last of the Lounges’ patrons, and upon locking the doors shut, had found one of the decoys tracing the conch of Makoa’s ear as they leant against his boyfriend’s shoulder. He’d witnessed the way Makoa had sucked in a sharp intake of breath as his hard-light impression dragged their finger across his jaw, down over his throat, before teasingly slipping it between their own lips with a coy smile.

_“Lights out,” Elliott chastised them, snapping his fingers with a grumble, as he made his way towards Makoa to nuzzle into his neck and murmur promises of what the night held yet._

_He slid his hand down the front of Makoa’s jeans while Gibraltar opened his mouth to Elliott’s searching tongue, and_ oh -- well. _Wasn’t_ that _something to think about._

_Because his dick had been clearly rock-hard even before Elliott had even taken his duplicate’s place._

Perfecting the design of the decoys had taken years. Holo-Pilot engineering was impressive, but what Evelyn Witt had begun and Elliott had taken up the mantle of, was truly special. Something else entirely. Identical, hard-light replicas of the owner, that could even interact with real-world objects. He still remembered the first time he’d conjured up the exact image of himself, and had to take a few moments to actually let it sink in. Thought to himself -- _shit._

_That’s me._

There had been the slightest disruption of light molecules as he’d laid his hand against the decoy’s cheek, a faint tangible feel of his beard that dispersed and resolidified around his touch. The decoy had stood there with a smug grin, hands set firmly on his hips, much like Elliott liked to imagine he would look one day if he made it as far as the Apex Games.

First on the agenda had been, of course, to toy with the decoy’s source code. Elliott had spent many long hours, thinking about what the perfect vision of himself would look like: an Elliott free of the past that haunted him, the wartime that had become such a natural part of growing up on Solace. Naturally, they’d needed more tweaks down the line, along the course of life and its events, the ways it had shifted and shaped the person he grew into: that first time a childhood friend who’d enlisted in the Militia had died. Then another, and another, and then -- his brothers.  
When Jack Cooper blew up Typhon, he had been so sure they were coming home again. But days and weeks and months and eventually years went by, and still they remained ‘Missing In Action’.

Each and every time, Elliott had to make more tweaks. The further he drifted from the person he wished he was, the more frequently they needed to be updated.

Before Makoa, the adjustments had been becoming a weekly tradition, if not daily.

Regardless, they had always been nothing short of a marvel to Elliott. No matter how much his mother reminded him that the technology was as much his as it was her own, it was strange to believe he’d played such a large part in bringing them to life. Giving them personality that mimicked the wearer had been his own particular design, and he had been the one to program them with a signature flair that mimicked the person in control.

It was...fascinating, truth be told. Watching himself be the person he wished he could be. How they shrugged off any kind of insult with a simple wink and coy grin, the way they leaned in and gave a tantalising grin across the bar to customers, as natural as if it were _breathing_.

He’d watched in rapt awe for several weeks at just how easy it was for them, when he, himself, doubted nearly every move he made, every clumsy word that spilled out of his mouth.

It was impossible to not wonder what this form that wore his face, and spoke with his voice, _better_ than he did, was capable of doing. Even if it was technically just a programme. 

The first time he’d decided to test that particular hypothesis had been when closing up for the night in the Lounge. It hadn’t even been a particularly memorable night: just around the time when he’d realised he could actually afford to allocate more of the work to the decoys, and dedicate more time to mingling with the regulars and indulging in the variety of delectable alcoholic beverages that the Lounge had to offer. Which, of course, meant Elliott himself was more than a little too drunk as he leant back against the bar and sipped his whiskey whilst the decoys did their thing, wiping down tables and collecting glasses.

The whiskey was burning hot on his lips, his mind a haze as he watched them work. They traded quips and jokes back and forth to one another, as if they were individuals, and in that moment, it felt like they _were_.

Elliott snagged the waist of one as they passed him by. Particles of hard-light drifted around his hand, before flickering and restoring back into the solidity of the hologram and he couldn’t help but take a moment to marvel at the process.

“Anything I can do for ya?” the decoy had inquired, leaning into him. So strange. They felt so...whole to touch, not _quite_ like the real thing, but not that far off either.

An urge struck Elliott suddenly deep in his chest, so hard that he had to pause to exhale a sharp breath. It was an utterly absurd thought, reprehensible really, and most _definitely_ very, _very_ wrong, but alcohol was clouding his judgement -- not to mention the pooling heat deep in his gut. He purposefully forced all doubts of how wrong this line of thought was out of his mind, gave into base instinct and tugged the copy of himself closer, between his spread legs and slid his hands down to cup their ass. 

“Kiss me.”

The decoy grinned at him, cocking their head like they were going for one final teasing remark; just like Elliott himself would, if he could ever think of something smart to say. But he’s too impatient for that, too concerned he might lose his nerve if he’s given too much opportunity to overthink this, and thus knotted his fingers in his replica’s hair, and pulled them down into a hungry kiss.

It wasn’t anything like the real thing, but it wasn’t _nothing_ either.

He was dimly aware of specks of holographic light sparking and bursting into nothingness as his replica’s mouth met his, lips parting to allow Elliott’s tongue to flood their mouth. They _were_ created with his own persona in mind, so the decoy wasted no time pressing themself up against Elliott where he sat on the bar stool, answering his kiss with equal fervour.

His mirror image grasped at the back of his neck, snagging Elliott’s lower lip between their teeth and rocking their hips forward against his stirring erection.

He let out a yelp at that,and the decoy pulled away, smirking with the kind of smugness Elliott recognised from practicing in the mirror. They tangled their fingers between his, winking before pulling him off the stool and over towards one of the booths. 

Elliott found himself powerless to do anything but follow, enraptured. Ironic, really: technically he was the one who controlled _them_ , but here he was, completely at their mercy.

A fact only reinforced when the decoy stopped just short of the seating, so as to brush their fingers over his hard-on. Elliott shuddered, and the replica leant in close, speaking in hushed tones as they teasingly cupped it through the fabric.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing these, do you?”

Any plans to reply fled from his mind as the decoy began to mouth at his neck, running their tongue all the way down to the space where his neck met his shoulder. That wrenched a pleased gasp from Elliott, which his likeness must have taken as affirmation, because they began to deftly unbutton his pants and shirk them down his thighs.

Fuck. When he’d successfully managed to achieve the Holo-Pilot tech to interact with real world objects, the main thing he’d been thinking of was getting to help him with basic errands. Helping out around the bar, cleaning up the workshop after him and his Mom, he’d never imagined _this_ \-- okay, okay, that wasn’t _entirely_ true. Maybe the thought had flitted across his mind once or twice but he’d shoved it far, _far_ back down into the darkest regions of his brain, did his best to repress the idea entirely. 

But strangely enough, he found himself feeling far less ashamed of himself than he should, curiously skirting his hands down his imitation’s side, watching in fascination as his hands drifted over the light, which had a surprising solidity to it. Something like the force of a bullet would shatter the hologram quicker than glass, but they were still firm enough to touch, solid enough to grip around the waist. His reflection smirked back at him, and began to fiddle with the zipper of their own jeans, which was...sort of odd, he was pretty sure the digital light that that projected their clothing meant ‘said’ outerwear would simply wink out of existence once discarded, but hey, they had designed them to mirror a human perfectly. Perhaps undressing was just part of the sequence.

His theory was correct: once the decoy tossed them away, the pants disintegrated into flickering particles of light before vanishing into thin air, as did the shirt that followed it.. He didn’t have much more time to study them, however, as the former ‘wearer’ of said clothing tangled their fingers into his curls, pulled his head back and licked the strong curve of his jaw. 

Elliott cried out, and tried to reach for the projection again, but his counterpart was way ahead of him, pulling his shirt over his head before pushing him back onto the table. He followed their cue, shuffling backwards so that he was properly seated, the surface cold against his bare ass. His replica had nodded approvingly, before climbing onto his lap and reaching for his cock.

That wrenched a _much_ more high-pitched noise from Elliot than its predecessor, wrapping his arms around the decoy and digging his fingers into their back.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly a _back_ like the ones he was used to, the kinds made of flesh and bone: instead, his fingers dug into hard-light, which had _much_ softer give than skin did. It still, however, gave him something solid to cling to, holographic flecks of blue light drifting up from beneath the press of his fingertips.

The decoy pulled themself up from where they had been sucking a wet mark into Elliott’s neck -- _would that even leave a mark?_ \-- before harshly tugging his fringe up to meet their eyes.

They trailed their thumb over his lower lip slowly and a little-too-smugly. He was the one in control here, if it came down to semantics, but he found himself staring back at his double, dazed and dangerously too curious of what was coming next.

“What do _you_ want?” Elliott asked, his knuckles drifting over his copy’s jaw.

He’d been rewarded with a hearty chuckle from the other, catching both hands and entwining their fingers together, gently holding them in a brief moment of tenderness --

Before gripping them tightly and using what weight they had to shove him forwards and slam him back onto the table, pinning his wrists down on either side of his head.

“ _Us._ ”

His decoy impatiently bucked their hips against Elliott’s erection, and oh, _fuck_ , it might not be just like the real thing but it still _felt_ deliciously real. When he let out a strangled yell, that simply dragged a wicked smile from his copy as they released his hands and drew themselves up onto their knees.

Balancing themselves with a hand on his chest, they shuffled themselves forwards ever-so-slightly, so that they were directly perched over his cock. Elliott’s eyes widened, staring down at his own erection, and then back up at them.

“Y-y-you’re? _Sure?I_ ”

The hologram winked at him, boldly scraping their fingers down his abdomen.

“You know we are.”

And yeah -- fuck, they were a _we_ , after all, right? His hands slid down their body, coming to settle around his decoy’s ass, squeezing a little more urgently, now that he knew he _could_.

His double smoothed his fringe back from his face, before steadying themself with both hands on his torso, sinking back and waiting for Elliott to guide his cock inside. Elliott met his reflection’s eyes for just a moment, trying to jabber out anything coherent, anything of substance, _anything_ , before they crossed this line but --

For once, Elliott was at loss for words.

The replica shifted their hips, and Elliott angled his cock to meet their hole and, _oh_ , _fuck_ , and every other goddamn fucking curse word he’s learned from Solace and the worlds beyond, because he was entirely unprepared for just how easily his decoy sunk down onto his dick in one fluid motion.

Prep, it seemed, was not that necessary when your partner was a hologram. 

“Fu -- _fuuu_ \-- _fuck!_ ”

When it came to doing sex this particular way, Elliott was more used to being the one being _taken_. Which might be the reason his decoy was so eager to do exactly that, grinning at him like it had been the easiest thing in the world. 

The thought irritated Elliott more than it should, and he fucked his hips up, not expecting to actually _meet_ anything, but -- _ah_ \-- he felt his dick grind against _something_ , and oh, _God_ \--

He loosened the hand that had been digging into his copy’s back, reaching around for the base of their cock. His decoy gives a throaty _hiss_ of approval, raking their nails down the Season-honed muscles of his abdomen, wrenching another hoarse, guttural moan from his throat as he struggled to not fall apart.

But his duplicate impatiently bucked their hips, fucking up into Elliott’s hand before grinding back down on his cock, arching their back and biting back yells of their own.

A series of indecipherable noises left him, and that had been about the last clear thought he had of that night, aside from _yes_ , and _fuck_ , and _oh_ God, and most importantly: _yes, yes, yes_ \-- _yes_ \--

Bursts of blue spectral light exploded from inbetwixt wherever he dug his fingertips into his other’s skin, and he could just about hazily make them out over the decoy’s shoulder, or when he reached out to try and touch their face, when he meets their eyes -- _his_ eyes, truly, and the decoy grinned back at him.

Maybe they could just tell that he was close, maybe it was some strange side-effect of the amount of himself he’d poured into their source coding; but they wrenched Elliott’s hand away from their dick, leant in close and nipped his ear, panting heavily as they did so.

“You wanna come?” they purred, trailing the pad of their thumb down over his sweat-soaked sternum.

“I -- _fuck_ , I --” he yelped as his decoy rolled their hips to meet the thrusts of his cock. “Yeah -- _yeah_ , fuck, I’m gonna -- _fuck_ \--”

His replica drew back with a filthy grin, catching his chin in the palm of their hand so as to force him to meet their wicked gaze. It was bizarre looking at his own face during moments like these, nervermind _fucking_ them, but that was for a thought for another day. Because the holographic projection was tenderly brushing his fringe out of his face, with a patient and loving smile.

Then they yanked his hair back harshly, and hissed into his ear:

“Then let’s _come_.”

He felt the illusion of teeth biting his ear, hot breath burning his cheek, as the other rocked their hips with increasing urgency and fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , it was so fucking _much_. He could feel his thighs trembling uncontrollably, his cock still frantically fucking up into a tightness that wasn’t the usual warmth he was familiar with, but it’s still, it’s _still_ \-- oh, _fuck._

He throws back his head, spilling out an illegible and incomprehensible number of curses from his lips as he comes. The decoy behaves similarly, but unlike Elliott, does not leave _quite_ such a mess: he’ll never be able to look anyone seated in this booth directly in the eyes ever again.

He comes down gradually, resting his forehead against the replica’s shoulder -- which was just about solid enough to do so. 

And fuck it -- he’s curious. This was his family’s area of expertise, after all. The science of it took priority, and inquisitiveness was supposed to be natural.

“Did you...”

He trailed off awkwardly, unable to quite verbalise his thinking but fortunately the decoys had been designed using _his_ brain. Which meant they were well honed in to his classic brand of making a fool of himself.

The decoy chuckled, luxuriously dragging their tongue over the defined muscle of his neck.

“ _We,_ ” they reminded him, clucking their tongue and shuffling themself closer on his lap, his cock still buried in their ass. The aftershocks of his orgasm were still hitting him hard, like lighting striking randomly across the sky. “ _We_ came.”

Elliott looked on in surprise and shock -- the good kind, he hoped, but his optimism was rewarded.Their grip on his hair loosened, combing it through their fingers before drawing him back down into another greedy kiss. Elliott met their mouth eagerly, devouring it and finally allowing himself to let go at all of those nagging doubts about right and wrong and letting himself just sink back onto the table, let their body settle on top of his, lets their wandering hands explore his body, caressing him and whispering to him until there’s no room left for thinking at all.

***

So, yeah. It had happened again on more than one occasion -- or three, or more than twenty times, who kept count of this kinda thing really? The decoys were usually the ones to initiate it, when they found him particularly wound up in the aftermath of a bad day, be it a Game where he’d performed poorly, or the struggle of his caring for his mother, or -- as was most commonly the case -- the times he retreated in on himself, berating his own personal failings as a person. They’d abandon whatever task he’d set them to perform, slip their arms around his waist from behind, and nuzzle into his neck with promises of how they could make him feel better.  
And _damn_ , could they be convincing.

He’d learned to even shrug off most of the shame of what they did: sure, he still felt a bit pathetic if he reflected on the fact he was getting off by fucking holographic copies of himself, but he tried avoid that by simply not dwelling on it. To the best of his ability, anyway.

But then Makoa happened. 

Yeah, Elliott had had relationships in the past, but few that had _lasted_ and none where he had actually felt like he could be...free, and open to be himself, without any judgement. So entering the kind of partnership like he had with Gibraltar was entirely unchartered territory.

Sure, it had taken work -- a _lot_ of work -- but Makoa had been with him every step of the way, never making him feel the fool, but remaining unyieldingly patient and caring and _loving_.

It was the happiest he’d been in as long as he could remember. Probably the most at peace he’d felt since the first of his brothers had left for the war. 

Just feeling so completely and utterly _safe_ around another person once again. 

It was inevitable the decoys took a shine to him: around the bar, or even during one particularly memorable occasions in the middle of a match when a decoy that Mirage had triggered to act as bait for any potential foes, had siddled up next to Makoa and began planting kisses on the side of his neck instead. 

_That_ had been a shock -- they never disobeyed their host commands -- well, barely ever anyway -- and he had to hiss at them a reminder that they could very literally get both Gibraltar and him _killed_ as a result of their insubordination. They’d pulled away with a pout, revealing to Elliott the _very_ flushed face of his boyfriend, still peering down the lens of his sniper scope as he assessed their surroundings, but the rising blush on his cheeks had been impossible to ignore.

A shot had rang out from somewhere behind them, and Octane had burst into the building yelling at them “ _muevan sus traseros!_ ”, whatever the hell that meant, and they had to spring into action before Elliott had the chance to say anything.

But that didn’t mean he’d forgotten.

***

And so, Elliott wondered.

It was too strange a subject to bring up, no matter how much more comfortable he became in their relationship: ‘ _would you like to introduce my Holo-Pilot technology into our sex life_ ’ was one hell of a fucking conversation. Especially when things on that particular front were going so damn _well_ \-- Elliott was fairly built himself, he’d struggled to find a partner that could handle his preferences in the bedroom quite as well as Gibraltar was able to. Having someone that could lift him up like he weighed practically nothing, was entirely novel and something that he doubted he was ever gonna get tired of. He was more than happy when it came to such fits of intimacy, but his mind just _wanders_ sometimes.

Thought about Makoa maybe watching as Elliott and a decoy engaged in their familiar play, his holographic double riding his cock whilst Gibraltar looked on, stroking himself as he enjoyed the show. Or perhaps they could suck his cock as he lay back on the bed, his legs spread and Gibraltar fucked him raw.

Normal sexual musings. That kind of thing. 

It was only once he attuned the decoys to be more connected to his neural link, in order to harness more control over their behaviour in the Ring, had things shifted that bit differently. 

The plan had been to ensure their movements in the Games were more natural, that they could throw their opponents off-guard with the unpredictability of their behaviour, in a way that mirrored his own. Essentially, to provide distraction so that they could launch a surprise attack on other teams, or to beat a hasty retreat. But the tweak had resulted in some...unanticipated consequences.

Beforehand, they had simply _flirted_ with Gibraltar, apparently relishing just how much they could wind up his boyfriend. But now, it was like the upgraded link was allowing them to gather a little more insight into what exactly Elliott was thinking sometimes, and it seemed that they might actually be picking up on some of the fantasies he had been privately mulling over when looking at Gibraltar, or alone in bed at night, when he slipped a hand down beneath the duvet covers and between his legs.

Ramya had taken off for the night, mercifully. Thanks to her friendship with Makoa, which predated the Games and her new, weird live-in occupancy at the Lounge, she was usually happy to leave the two of them to themselves when she could sense they wanted a little privacy. Not without digging her elbows into Elliott’s ribs, and winking at him with a smart parting remark, but Elliott surprised himself with how easily he was able to shake off her teasing. 

Weirdly, it felt kind of like having a sibling again. Him as the big brother for once; no matter how smart Ramya was, she was still a _kid_ and -- Elliott found himself strangely fond of her.

Not that he’d ever tell _her_ that, but it was nice having some genuine company around again, and not just when the Legends decided to use his damn men’s lavatory as a black-ops base. 

But. When it came down to it, it was even better when it was _just_ him and Makoa, and no one else to worry about.

Elliott was pressed up against his boyfriend, relishing in the warmth of his skin as he indulgently ran his hands up and down the muscles of his biceps. It was no secret that Makoa’s arms were built like goddamn tree trunks -- hell, Ajay and Octavio had taken turns hanging off them, until Gibraltar had made a triumphant show of lifting them both off the ground at the same time. But only _Elliott_ got to enjoy them this way, wrapped around his waist and pulling him tighter to his chest. Makoa was still sitting at one of the barstools, whilst Elliott was nestled between his parted legs, grinning up at him, face flushed and pleasantly tipsy.

He’d learned by now, not to rise to Ramya’s taunts of drinking him under the table; he maintained he’s just as much stamina as she does, but god _damn_ , he’d forgotten how twenty-one year olds didn’t seem to get hangovers. He’d woken up too many times with a pounding headache, and the agonising sound of her drill firing first thing in the morning, along with music blaring loud enough that he thought his brain might actually implode. 

He’d rather avoid the crippling headache the next day, and besides:

Elliott had everything he needed right here in front of him in order to have a good time. 

Every _one_.

Makoa tilts his head down to mouth across his temple, hot breath ghosting over his skin and sending shivers down Elliott’s spine, instinctively digging his fingers that little bit tighter into Makoa’s flesh.

“Eager tonight, ain’t ‘chu?” Gibraltar chuckles, nipping at the curve of his ear, and Elliott feels jolts of electricity sparking beneath his skin and spreading across his entire body. It’s a marvel, really, just how much Makoa manages to make him feel like a giddy teenager, like it’s the first time they touched, they kissed, they fucked, makes him feel dizzy and drunk and like the rest of the world doesn’t exist outside of the tender touch of the other man’s embrace. 

Boldly, he slips his hands up and underneath Makoa’s tank top, giving a pleased _hum_ as his fingers press against the taut muscles of his abdomen, beneath the flesh of his stomach. Up, and up, until he’s flattening his hands against his boyfriend’s pectorals, and pulling his head back ever so slightly, his eyes heavy with the haze of booze and lust. 

“Can’t really blame me, can you?” he murmurs, idly flicking one of Makoa’s nipples and enjoying the sharp intake of breath that earns him in response. “I’m not used to having a roommate. Usually I can just shut up shop, and...well, you know…” he trails off, circling that same nipple now with his thumb, drawing his lower lip between his teeth coyly as he glances up from beneath the dark tresses of his fringe to meet Makoa’s burning gaze. “Three’s a company ‘n all that…”

“What about _me_?”

Elliott jolts in surprise -- at the sound of his own fucking voice, no less -- as one of his decoys plants their chin on Makoa’s shoulder and pouts. Gibraltar is equally taken aback, head snapping around to discern what the hell was happening, before turning a flattering shade of red at the sight of his boyfriend’s copy rolling his head to the side and curling their arms around his waist.

“Does it count if it’s _me?_ ”

Elliott has the beginning of a curse forming on his tongue, just about to remove his hands away in order to signal to his double to mind their own business, when he notices --

Elliott knows Makoa isn’t the type to rudely or even _politely_ recoil away from a person’s unwanted affections, would rather steer them away with a laugh and a joke. But he’s not...pulling away. His head is turned, cheeks burning as the decoy bats their eyelashes flirtatiously up at him, and rather than appearing revulsed or even uncomfortable, there’s a flicker of… _something._

His breath catches in his chest when he realises that the glint in Makoa’s eyes might even be _curiosity_.

Hesitantly, he eases the tension out of his fingers, splays them across the expanse of Gibraltar’s chest. His heart feels like it’s going ninety miles a minute, despite the fact that all of this seems to be playing out in agonisingly uncertain slow-motion. His hands trail back down his torso before slipping around Makoa’s sides, fingertips dancing their way down until they come to a rest over his decoy’s forearms, where they still hold him from behind.

Makoa’s head swivels in shock, but this time in order to look at the _real_ Elliott.

His duplicate was chuckling to themself in a self-satisfied way, just over his shoulder, but Elliott barely even notices. He’s too intent staring back at Makoa, trying to not allow the nervous panic fluttering around his ribcage, like a trapped bird, to overwhelm him. What if Makoa thought this was wrong? Sick? 

God, what if Makoa _left_ him over this?

“I -- I -- we don’t --”

He’s cut off abruptly as the other man seizes his head in his hand, knotting his fingers into his hair and pulling him into an urgent, eager, kiss. He tongue presses against Elliott’s greedy mouth, which, of course parts willingly, gripping the larger man’s waist with increasing desperation.

He feels a shift to his side, and breaks apart, panting heavily. His decoy has started pressing kisses all the way up Makoa’s neck, their hands beginning their own journey up Gibraltar’s torso. Makoa groans, squeezing his eyes shut at the sensation and Elliott gently lays a hand on his jaw. His eyelids flutter open, the pupils of his brown eyes blown black with desire. And _fuck_ , the answer to his question was written right there in the intense way the other man stares back at him, chest heaving as the decoy caresses the back of his neck, pulling playfully at his hair so that it fell loose of its tie. 

“Makoa,” he gasps, trying to not look at his duplicate because, _fuck_ , that’s what _he_ looked like when they did this, “-- this -- you’re _sure?_ Because,” he swallows, snatching at his double’s hand so as to stop what they’re doing and let him finish what he’s saying. They emit a whine of irritation, but he ignores them. “We -- I mean, only if you’re _comfortable_ , just tell me if it’s too --”

This time, it’s Makoa who catches Elliott’s wrist. He’s still breathing heavily, wetting his lips with tongue as he tries to recuperate enough in order to answer. 

“Trust me, Ell. I’m good, but...” He pauses, guiding Elliott’s hand to rest over his heart. With the other, he found the decoy’s hand and intertwines his fingers with theirs. “...only so long as you are, yeah?”

Elliott swallows thickly. _Fuck_ , is about the only coherent thought he can have for a moment, dimly aware that Gibraltar must be able to hear how rapidly his heart was beating. He stares at his boyfriend’s large hands twined between the slimmer, nimble digits of his decoy -- exactly like his own -- and then up at their face. They grin at him, leaning in to lick a long line up the thick muscle of Gibraltar’s neck. He knows from his own experience that their tongues don’t have as much solidity as the real thing, nor were they wet, but Makoa shudders from the titillation all the same. 

His cock gives a twitch just from watching them, reminding him that he still has yet to answer Makoa. 

“I -- yeah, _God_.” He grits his teeth and takes a breath, trying to pull himself together. “ _Fuck_ , yes.”

Makoa gives him a shaky smile, cupping his face in one hand.

“Maybe somewhere more private, yeah?” He winked. “You got a roommate now, after all.”

Elliott feels his face flush: he’d forgotten entirely about Ramya. Makoa had a point -- sure it spelled the end to their days of sex on one of the Lounge’s sofas or booth tables, but hey, he did need the rent money. Plus, it was nice having someone who considered him a friend around, and he didn’t want to emotionally traumatise her too much with what was potentially coming next.

Fortunately, he’d his own room built into the back of the Lounge, for the nights he was too exhausted to even try and make his way back to his mom’s, that also doubled as his own personal workshop. So he finally straightens himself up, flashes Makoa a flustered smile and takes his hand in his own.

“R-right. Good idea. Bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

He tugs lightly at his boyfriend’s hand, prompting him to hop off the barstool he’d been sitting on, and towards the direction of his backroom. He hesitates for a moment, then throws a glance over his shoulder at the decoy watching their departure, inquisitively.

Elliott raises a single eyebrow, then motions with a tilt of his head towards the bedroom door.

“You too.”

They certainly didn’t need to be told twice. They push themself off the bar’s counter that they’d been leaning against, and in the blink of the eye, wrap themselves around Makoa’s free arm, squeezing his biceps salaciously. For a brief moment, Elliott almost feels absurdly jealous: especially when he notices his boyfriend gazing down at them with a fervent curiosity.

 _It’s because he looks like_ you, he reminds himself, and oh, yeah. _That_. He was actually getting to watch a third-person perspective of what happened to Gibraltar when his attention was focused on Elliott, not to mention his _desire_.

And fuck, if he got hung up thinking on _that_ particular train of thought, they were never gonna make it as far as the bedroom, so he grits his teeth and ups the pace in that direction. Gibraltar -- and the decoy too, apparently -- put up very little argument: perhaps they were equally impatient.

The three of them stumble into the room and Elliott slams the door behind them, fumbling for its lock . After testing the lock several times -- new roommate and all -- there’s a moment as he turns and leans against the door, and has to catch himself, glancing between the two of them.

_Shit. This is really happening._

He’d had multiple partners at the same time in the past, sure, but none of them had been actual _partners_ in the literal sense, and they most certainly had not involved holographic fucking clones of himself. He has ideas -- many, _many_ ideas, or hell, call them for what they were, _fantasies_ \-- but he’s no fucking clue just how far Makoa will be comfortable taking this. 

Far as Elliott is concerned, pretty much every possible scenario -- of which there were many -- was just fine in his books, but he can’t speak for his boyfriend, especially when --

His train of thought is abruptly cut off when his duplicate uses his hesitation to seize the opportunity, and launch themself at Gibraltar.

Makoa gives a muffled ‘ _mmfph!_ ’ of surprise, but reacts faster than Elliott would have expected, snatching them by the hips and lifting them up, so that the other was a little bit taller than him and hungrily opening their mouth to the decoy’s eager tongue. Something stirs in his gut as he watches them kiss, how his replica snaps his legs around his boyfriend’s waist, digs their fingers into his hair, how Gibraltar’s hands squeeze their ass, blue flecks of holographic light swept away wherever he touched their form, and _God_ \--

That’s what _they_ looked like. Together.

Besides the whole hologram thing, but _still_. 

His cock is pressing hard against the confines of his jeans, and that ridiculous flurry of jealousy is nagging at him again, stirs him into finally taking some definitive action. 

He pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside, before sidling closer to the duo, pressing the warmth of his flesh against Gibraltar’s back. Makoa was still, unfortunately, wearing far too many clothes, but he gasps at the sensation all the same, breaking the kiss with the decoy as he did.

Makoa attempts to crane his neck in order to try to meet Elliott’s gaze, and Elliott’s lips twitch into a brazen smile. Sure, his replica might turn him on, but they were no match for the real thing, right? Hell, he knew that _himself_ , from first-hand experience.

“How ‘bout you work on getting those pesky clothes of his off, eh?” He meets the eye of his almost identical copy over Makoa’s shoulder, and gives him a wink. “And let me work him up for us.”

The decoy chuckles, releasing their legs from around the taller man, sliding back down to the ground and already beginning to work on undressing themself.

“Sure thing, boss. But I don’t know if he needs much more encouragement, if ya know what I mean.”

Elliott’s view of his duplicate is blocked by Gibraltar’s considerable, muscular form, but he can _tell_ they’re bloody well smirking at him. He designed them, after all.

Refusing to be outdone by a goddamn _hologram_ , he squeezes Makoa’s ass before grasping his waist and turning his partner back around to face him. When he does, he sees instantly that his replica’s teasing hadn’t been an exaggeration. Even pressed together like this, he can _feel_ just how fucking hard his dick is, and it’s ridiculously tempting to throw all their current, not-yet-quite-voiced, plans out the window in favour of just demanding Makoa bend him over the fucking bed and fuck him like there’s no tomorrow right this second

But hell, if there was anything Gibraltar had taught him during their time together?

It was that patience paid _off_.

The decoy reaches around from behind him, searching for the hemline of Makoa’s tank-top, and Elliott assists them pulling it up, and over to be tossed hastily in some corner of the room. Elliott takes a moment to absorb the sight of his boyfriend’s body -- the tattoos decorating his thickly muscled arms, winding across the broad expanse of his shoulders and down over his pectoral muscles, the beads of sweat beginning to form and drip down his chest, his abdomen -- _everything_ , truthfully.

His gaze lands on Makoa’s kiss-swollen lips, parted in fascination as he, too, drinks in the sight of Elliott. He feels just the _slightest_ tug of a smug grin at the corner of his mouth, that Gibraltar reserves this kind of revered look for him, and him alone. The state that his double had worked Makoa into was simply _because_ they were the mirror image of him. 

His copy’s hands slip around Makoa’s waist, and begin to deftly undo his belt. Makoa shudders, and Elliott wastes no time closing the gap between them, pressing his chest against Gibraltar’s, resting a single hand against his neck and savouring just how fast he could feel his pulse beating against his palm.

He nips at his neck, trailing kisses all the way across his jaw and finally, his mouth. He slides his fingers over the base of his skull and up, before finally tangling his fingers in Makoa’s thick hair. His free hand slips between his legs, where, conveniently, his decoy had been successful in undressing the outer-layers of his clothing. He grasps his thick shaft through his boxer briefs, emitting a pleased _hum_ at just how hard Makoa is. He bucks his hips involuntarily at the sheer sensation, but he’s cut off mid-groan as fingers wrap around his wrist, tugging his hand away, as well as whatever impure thoughts he was currently considering.

He blinks, and looks up to see his own face grinning smugly at him. 

“ _You_ too.” they purr, along with a wink.

Makoa chuckles breathlessly against his cheek, and draws back, disentangling himself from Elliott, despite Elliott’s displeased whine. 

“He gotta point, Ell,” his boyfriend murmurs, his hands making deft work of undoing his belt and the fastenings of his jeans. “If we’re doing this…” he pauses for just a moment, tracing his thumb down the trail of hair beneath his navel to where it thickens just above his crotch, provoking a sharp intake of breath from Elliott, along with a shiver that courses the whole way through his body. “Ain’t fair if only one of us is still wearing clothes…”

He hooks both thumbs into Elliott’s briefs, begins to slowly work them down his hips, his ass, and fuck, fuck, _fuck_ \-- groaning in need as his dick is finally freed from the constraints of his underwear. Makoa pauses to rest his hands over the exposed curve of Elliott’s ass, lightly squeezing before pushing what remains of his pants further down his legs. Elliott takes up the job from there, hurriedly trying to undress himself as quickly as possible and almost stumbling over himself in the process -- saved, thankfully by the steady grip of his decoy on his shoulder, whispering on encouragement. Gibraltar is engaging in a similar process, albeit with a little more care and Elliott nearly falls _again_ when he catches sight of his boyfriend’s cock, hard and already leaking with pre-cum, springing free from his underwear. The desire leaves him feeling momentarily dizzy, and again, it’s his copy who rescues him from toppling over as he finally finishes pulling off the last of his clothes.

“There, there,” they croon, arms slipping around his waist from behind him, and _God_ , it’s pathetic but Elliott is hopelessly grateful for the support. “You’ll have his dick soon enough.”

The hands continue to roam, one up his chest, the other lingering dangerously close to his groin.

“Whatever way you like,” the copy coos, one wandering hand slipping up his neck, brushing their thumb over Elliott’s lower lip. Elliott’s mouth parts with a breathless gasp, and the decoy slips their thumb inside, followed by a finger. He makes a desperate noise, already losing control of himself and instinctively sucks them down. The other hand wraps itself around the base of his dick, but just _holds_ it there, not moving. He tries desperately to buck up into their grip, all the while rolling his tongue around the digits pushing themselves in and out between his lips.

His eyes search for Makoa’s, his cheeks already red with embarrassment at what he’s been reduced to so quickly, as well as the uncertainty over whether this would freak him out, but --

Gibraltar had managed to kick away the remaining articles of his clothing, and was now just staring at Elliott and his duplicate with a look that bordered on reverence. And if _that_ wasn’t quite enough to convince him that Makoa was well and truly into this, he’d wrapped his hand around his own leaking cock, thumbing the slit and panting heavily.

His decoy snickers, pulling their fingers out of Elliott’s mouth and smearing saliva across his lip and chin. He chokes in a deep breath, hips snapping forward into his decoy’s grip -- but they snatch him back by the jaw, pulling him tight back against their chest. They had a surprising amount of strength: or perhaps it was something again to do with the neural link, and knowing that in this moment, he _wanted_ this kind of domination.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” his decoy considers, giving his dick an all-too-desperately needed stroke and drawing a piteous, needy moan from Elliott. “We could have him any which way. Or me.” He can fucking _feel_ them grinning, from where they’ve perched their neck on his shoulder. “What do you boys want? Dealers’ choice.”

Elliott finds Makoa’s eyes and oh fuck, they are _blazing_ with a hunger that is making it all too difficult to not just snap his fingers, so that the decoy departed and just _launch_ himself at his partner, but -- 

They’ve come this far, and _fuck_ , maybe it’s messed up but he _wants_ this.

“Fuck me, Makoa,” he pants, “and -- and -- ‘n I’ll suck ‘em off.”

His boyfriend’s face flickers for just a moment -- long enough that Elliott has time to doubt himself -- before flushing a furious shade of red. _That_ drags a grin out of him: Gibraltar wasn’t easy to fluster, those boasts he made about being immovable applied to more than just his physical strength. _But_ , every now and again, Elliott manages to get under his skin, usually via showing off his _own_ skin, or with wicked words about all the things he wanted to do to him. Not to mention what he wanted Makoa doing to _him_. 

Makoa moves to catch Elliott by the hips, and his duplicate releases their hold on him with a snigger, moving back towards the bed.

Elliott reaches up, brushes some of the damp strands of hair that had fallen loose across Makoa’s forehead away. His boyfriend leans into his touch with a soft noise.

“Wanna see you though,” he murmurs, trailing his hands down to squeeze Elliott’s ass, “wanna see all of you.”

“Oh, I think we can work with that,” the decoy calls out in an amused tone. Elliott glances over his shoulder to find his hard-light copy kneeling back on their shins on the far side of the bed, wearing nothing but a filthy grin. They were holding their own erection in their hand, giving it the odd, lazy stroke in a manner that made him suspect it was more for making a show of it than anything else. They patted the space on the mattress right in front of them. “Come here.”

Makoa releases his hold on him, evidently also curious by what the decoy had in mind, and Elliott finds himself following their command a little _too_ readily. There’s a buzzing under his skin that thrills with the absolute unknown of this: he hasn’t so much as kissed one of his copies ever since he began dating Gibraltar, why _would_ he? But they’d always had such creative ideas, and it appears their imagination has only grown in their time ‘apart’. Possibly another weird tweak in the connection between his mind and theirs’: as he’d become more like the Elliott Witt he wished he could be, well.

Perhaps that had resulted in a knock on-effect where the decoys were becoming increasingly more _Mirage._

He crawls onto the bed, over to where his counterpart had indicated, and was on the verge of pulling himself up onto his knees, when they grab him. They dig both their hands into the tangled tresses of his dark hair, and kiss him _hard._

The muffled, startled noise he responds with provides his hard-light replica with the perfect opportunity to slip their eager tongue between his lips, tilting their head so he could feel the feather-light flutter of eyelashes against his cheek. He steadies himself against their shoulder, fingernails digging into not-quite-flesh, and yields to their mouth, lets them devour it, shuddering as they draw him closer.

He tries to piston his hips in order to try to get _some_ friction against his painfully hard dick, but the second that he does, he’s forcefully pushed away. He’s still dizzy at how fast all of this is happening, how _much_ is actually happening, and it takes him a second or two to register the cocky grin his mirror image is giving him. 

“Don’t get too carried away, cowboy,” they chide him, biting down on the edge of their lower lip and flashing him a wink. “We’ve got company after all.”

Two large hands land on his shoulders, and with the decoy’s aid, help guide him over so that he’s kneeling with his back to them. Gibraltar is standing over both of them, his plush lips parted in rapt fascination as he watches. Elliott is actually _shivering_ with just how turned on he is right now, and the sight of Makoa’s dick so very close is only making matters _worse_.

Elliott’s hands fly to bracket his boyfriend’s hips, using the larger man’s frame as support to shakily lift himself off his heels. Makoa’s knuckles drift down over his cheek, scraping against his stubble, down beneath his chin and lifting it to tilt Elliott’s gaze up towards his own. He can tell that his partner is using all that he has to hold himself back right now, as it is, but all the same, his eyes are full with such utter love and adoration that it sends tremors tingling all the way through Elliott’s body to the point that even his _toes_ curl. 

Fuck. He can’t really help himself, not in this current position. 

He smiles up at him tenderly, before pulling his head back, free of where it was being lightly held. He relinquishes his grasp on Makoa’s right hip, and wraps it around his cock instead.

Gibraltar chases his touch with an instinctive thrust and a gasp, gripping Elliott’s shoulder harder. 

Elliott wastes little time in following his instinct, worries Makoa might try to stop him otherwise, thus closes the distance between them, taking the tip of his dick into his mouth and circles the head with his tongue.

“ _Fuck!_ ” 

Makoa is clearly struggling to keep himself from fucking into Elliott’s face, his thighs quivering and his grasp tightening on Elliott’s shoulder. He eases more of his cock into his mouth, bobbing his head back and forth with teasing licks and eager sucks, girding his throat and jaw to prepare to take more of him in. He wishes, as he does everytime he does this, that he could see Gibraltar’s face, but --

A hand that was too cool to the touch to be actual flesh skims down his spine, as a knee from behind pushes its way between his legs, encouraging him to spread.

“You should see him,” the decoy hums, running their hands down his thighs as he obligingly spreads his legs a little bit wider. “The way he looks at you. Like you’re the only thing in the world that matters in this moment. _But_. Don’t wear yourself out just yet.” 

Elliott jolts and groans around Makoa’s dick as he feels what he recognises as a tongue lap at his asshole. He’s distantly aware of Gibraltar making some kind of strangled cry above him, but it’s hard to entirely make out, not with fire sparking from every part of his skin to the point he’s not even sure where it’s originating.

Another leisurely pass over his perineum, and Elliott has to pull off Makoa for fear of choking on his cries. He coughs, still clinging to Makoa to keep himself from collapsing then throwing back his head with another groan as he feels the decoy push their tongue past the solid ring of muscle of his ass with their tongue. Yeah, it didn’t provide the exact same kind of stimulation that accompanied the warmth of a real tongue, but _fuck_ , it still felt so _good_ , and he pushes back against it insistently.

His replica licks his hole one final time, before drawing back and giving his arse a sharp smack when he complains.

“Don’t get greedy.”

They pull him back onto their lap, and Elliott is in too much of a dazed bliss to keep hold of Makoa, in spite of the duplicate’s significantly weaker strength compared to the both of them. They press a kiss to his sweat-soaked temple and then nestle their head on his shoulder so as to address Makoa.

“Get his legs up ‘n over, big guy. Might wanna get some prep first.” 

Elliott feels them playfully press against his hole, with their fingers this time, and he lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp. It’s truly fucking ridiculous how quickly and pathetically he’s come _completely_ apart, but he’s beyond the point of even being capable of caring.

Gibraltar kisses him quickly, mumbles into his ear how he’ll be right back. Elliott needily arches his back, trying to find his boyfriend’s mouth, but his copy yanks him back down against their chest, tugs his hair roughly to one side and begins to lick lazy circles over his neck, pausing every now and then to give a rough nip.

The tactic distracts him long enough to wait for Makoa return, and when he hazily looks up at him, he can see that the other man has preemptively coated not just his fingers, but his dick as well. 

Elliott lets out a desperate cry, fucking his hips up into nothing. The duplicate hushes him, and begins to guide him into a better position, with Makoa’s help. Elliott shuffles forward to the edge of the mattress, untwisting his legs from beneath him and lying back so that his head rests on his decoy’s lap. Gibraltar grasps him by the thighs, and with a strength that never fails to make sparks shoot through every nerve-ending in his body, easily lifts his legs up and over his shoulders.

“ _Fuck_ , Ell,” he groans, gazing down at him and his double. Elliott can only begin to imagine what the three of them must look like: Gibraltar, standing at the side of the bed, Elliott’s legs akimbo on either side of his head, his arse lifted off the bed, spine flat against the mattress whilst the decoy still cradled his head on their lap. He could feel their cock pressed against the back of his neck and he shrivels with a sudden thrill at the thought of actually having it in his mouth. He’d never actually sucked off one of his copies before (albeit, he _had_ considered it after a significant dry spell), they were _holograms_ after all and they were always so eager to perform the deed on _him_. But he can feel his mouth watering for it now, be it out of curiosity of what it would be like, desire to return the favour -- _especially_ after the treatment he’s received tonight -- or the urge to have a dick both in his mouth _and_ in his arse at the same time, he’s not entirely sure. Most likely, a combination of all three.

He’d envy Makoa the view, but then he’d get to miss out on seeing Gibraltar’s considerable form in between his thighs, his face flushed red and looking potentially more turned on than he thinks he’s ever seen the other man before.

“Are you okay like… Does this feel okay?”

He knows when his boyfriend is holding himself back, sees it so often when he seeks reassurance that he’s not hurting Elliott whenever Elliott’s demands in the bedroom get particularly...ambitious, especially in regards to what he could or could not handle. Were he anyone else, Elliott might have found the habit irritating, but it’s _Makoa_ , and so he can’t help but flash him a shaky, but loving smile, reaching up to lay a comforting hand over where his boyfriend clutches his thighs.

“S’okay -- I promise. Just…” He tries to hump his hips into thin air again, hoping it might convince Gibraltar of his willingness, and he bites back a cry as his still criminally neglected prick bounces back against his stomach. Even _that_ bare brush of contact leaves him writhing, and his decoy has to stabilise him by settling their hands on his shoulders again, with a wry snicker.

“Trust us, he’s _more_ than able for this. Just look at him.” They smooth some of his damp curls away from his forehead. “He’s _desperate_ to have you inside of him.” They smirk, cupping his face for just a moment. “He’d let you take him as he is _now_ , if you wanted. Isn’t that right?”

Elliott is breathing heavily, trying to resist the urge to buck his hips up again. His other is right, he _would_ let Makoa take him just as he is right now, even if that was an extremely ill-formed idea given the size of his boyfriend’s cock and the relatively little prep he’s received. But _fuck_ , he’s beyond the point of thinking straight anymore: it feels like hours since they even decided to do this, and the teasing is driving him fucking _crazy_.

He nods weakly, fixing Makoa with a pleading look.

“ _Please._ ”

Makoa runs his hands up over Elliott’s muscled thighs, turns to press a kiss against his calf before looking back at him with a nod.

“Okay,” he breathes, “okay. Just tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

Elliott makes an impatient noise, that Gibraltar must recognise by now, because he chuckles as he reaches for the bottle of lube he’d left on the bed. Elliott watches keenly as he slicks his thick fingers with a fresh coating of lubricant then flexes his hand.

He meets Elliott’s gaze, smiles at him gently but there’s a wicked glint in his eye that gives Elliott an inkling that he’s about to be well and truly _fucked_ , in more than one sense of the word.

Because Makoa has always loved teaching him the art of patience. 

So, between him and his own copy who seemed to thoroughly enjoy teasing him beyond the point of breaking in Gibraltar’s presence --

He’s fucking doomed.

Makoa lightly circles the rim of his hole with a single digit, and Elliott cries out, his legs already trembling. His decoy clucks their tongue, sliding a hand back into his hair. They give it the lightest of tugs, glancing down to meet his eyes.

“Behave,” they instruct him, tightening their grip ever-so-lightly. “And you’ll get a reward.”

His cock jumps absurdly at that -- whatever the fuck _that_ meant, he wants it, he wants so _much_ in this moment -- but he nods all the same, and turns his gaze back to Makoa.

Makoa slips a single finger past the tight ring of muscle of his entrance, and Elliott squeezes his eyes shut with a low groan. It’s so _good_ , but not _nearly_ enough, even when it’s buried all the way inside of him, or when Makoa begins to rock in and out of him with an agonising slowness. He digs his fingers into the bedsheets, trying to push him _in_ , _deeper_ , but it’s still --

“I want --” he trails off with a gasp, “I _want_ \--”

“Such a pretty mouth he has,” the decoy cuts him off, absently. “I think it could be put to better use, don’t you?”

Without waiting for an answer, his replica lifts themself up onto their knees, still cradling the back of Elliott’s head with one hand, the other reaching for their cock. Elliott shivers as he realises where they’re going with this and pushes himself up onto his elbows to better support himself.

“Good boy,” his duplicate croons in approval, stroking his face fondly, spectrals of flickering blue light bursting from beneath their fingertips wherever they caressed his skin. At the same time, Makoa eases another finger inside, and Elliott whimpers as he feels himself stretch around his fingers. It’s the _good_ kind of burn though, the type he’s come to crave, enough so that he rocks his hips encouragingly, trying to bury them even deeper.

The decoy tilts Elliott’s head backwards with a finger under his chin, forces him to look back up at them. They grin down at him, their cock in hand and press it against his lips.

“Go on. Open up. Show him what you can do.”

Elliott opens his jaw obligingly, letting his head fall back that bit further so as to accommodate more of his copy’s dick in his mouth to the best of his current ability. It’s an unusual position, to say the fucking _least_ , but his other helps keep his neck supported with their thighs, one hand on their prick and the other resting just over the top of his sternum. 

He laps at the underside of their cock, alternating between curling his tongue and flattening it out around their shaft as they begin to rock their hips, slowly at first, allowing him to adjust to the sensation and the angle. Their dick feels...strangely cool, but solid in his mouth, and he hums a little in gratification as he begins to get into the rhythm of things. The lack of _taste_ is strange, the difference between their skin and human flesh more apparent than even when they kissed, but it’s not unpleasant. Far fucking from it, actually: if he could try and encourage them to up the tempo without causing himself potential neck injury he _would_ , but.

For now, he lets out of a muffled sound of bliss -- which suddenly breaks off into a spluttering cry, his back arching off the mattress as Makoa curls his fingers inside of him, hits that spot that has him seeing fucking stars.

“Ell…” Makoa pants, his free hand massaging his trembling thighs. He’s barely holding it together himself, Elliott can tell, but there’s a note of concern in his voice all the same.

“Don’t worry,” the duplicate responds. “He can take it. He _likes_ it.” All the same -- they clearly notice Gibraltar’s worry as well, ease their cock out of his mouth and cup the back of his neck so that he can regain his breath, and to assist Elliott in meeting Makoa’s searching gaze.

Their eyes lock, and there’s that twist behind his chest again, the one that makes him wonder how the hell he ever got this lucky. Because the way his partner stares back at him with such love, such compassion, and God, such _lust_ \--

After decades of doubting he was deserving of anything like this, it’s a marvel everytime he sees the love he has for Makoa reflected back in the other man’s eyes. 

He tries to shake his hair out of his eyes, but it’s so matted with sweat at this stage that it’s a nigh-on impossible task. Gibraltar immediately intervenes, using the hand that wasn’t buried in Elliott’s arse to sweep his fringe out of his eyes, and behind his ear. Elliott presses his cheek against Makoa’s palm, and smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures his partner, turning and pressing a kiss to the skin of his tattooed hand. “I -- I _do_ like it. They know when to stop. Just…” He licks his lips, pausing for a moment to soak in the sight of Makoa before him, glistening in sweat, his dick rock-solid and wet with lube, with his fingers still pumping in and out of his arse at a painfully slow pace. “Just… _fuck_ , Makoa, _please_. I want you.”

He can see the bob of Makoa’s throat as he swallows, nods, and presses a third finger against his entrance. The thrill of that _alone_ sends jolts all the way through Elliott’s body, his legs instinctively tightening around his partner’s neck whilst Gibraltar works him open. 

“You wanna see him fucking you, don’t you?” his decoy murmurs, helping him prop himself upwards in order to get a better view. “Do you want that? See his cock fucking you then you can suck me off?” 

_Fuck._

Fuck his own stupid skill at engineering, fuck his custom tech, fuck the concept of creating duplicates of yourself entirely, because the stupid bastards were too goddamn good at knowing _exactly_ what he was thinking.

Makoa’s third finger breaches his hole, producing noises from Elliott that were several octaves higher than he was aware he could emit. He slides it deeper inside, joining the other two, and Elliott breathes heavily through the stretch, only distantly aware of the pain; it’s over-shrouded by the need coursing through every fucking vein in his body. His head falls back, neck arching with a gasp as Gibraltar begins to thrust them in and out of his _ass_ , and then a cry each time they graze against his prostate. The decoy continues to pet his hair, mumbling encouragement about how _well_ he was doing, how good he was at handling being stretched like this, filthy words that he could barely even understand because he’s babbling incoherently _himself_ at this stage. All he knows in this moment is that he wants Gibraltar’s cock in him, and he wants it _now_.

“M-Makoa…” he barely manages to choke out, rolling his head forward to meet his gaze. “S’--s’enough, I’m -- I’m ready, I swear, _fuck_ , just _please_ \--” He clenches his arse meanfully around the other man’s fingers and wrenching a groan from him. Good. He wasn’t gonna be able to handle this foreplay much longer.

“Okay,” his partner answers, reaching out and grazing his fingers over the hair on Elliott’s abdomen, trailing them down and dangerously low but not low _enough_. “Yeah -- okay.”

Elliott struggles to prop himself up higher on his elbows in order to get a better look. Gibraltar’s chest and abdomen is practically glistening with sweat at this point, his cock heavy and still slick with lube between his muscular thighs. Makoa curls his fingers inside him one last time, for good measure, drawing out a wordless yell from Elliott, his hips instinctively snapping yet again into nothing and whining in desperation when his cock finds nothing to even so much as _rut_ against.

His partner pulls his slick fingers out of him, and Elliott lets out pithy whine of loss. Sure, he knew what was coming was _better_ , but he’s always been greedy, and every moment without Makoa inside of him feels like decades too long.

Makoa takes the discarded bottle of lube beside them once more, pours more onto the palm of his hand -- he’s always been a tad over-generous with the lubricant, too aware of his own size and Elliott’s impatience -- and gives his cock a few, slow strokes. He bites down _hard_ on his lower lip as he does, eyes squeezed shut and taking several readying breaths. Elliott can relate: if he was allowed to touch his own dick right now, he’d probably be unable to help himself from just jerking off and coming all over his own chest.

He feels hands settle on both his shoulders, the tips of their fingers caressing his neck and even drifting over his Adam’s Apple, pressing against it oh-so-lightly. All the breath escapes him in a sharp gasp, before his duplicate releases the pressure and looks down at him with a mischievous smirk.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you,” they remark lightly, helping position him better to see what was coming next. “I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

Oh, _God_. He doesn’t really have much time to consider that, because Gibraltar’s gaze is burning into him so intensely that it’s difficult to concentrate on anything -- let alone any _one_ \-- else, lining his cock up so that it’s pressing against the cleft Elliott’s entrance. 

His whole body shudders as Makoa finally, _finally_ , breaches him, his eyes fluttering as he tries to relax his muscles, spread his legs a little bit wider, tilt his pelvis up, all to better accommodate Makoa’s dick. He pushes himself inside deeper, slowly, conscious as always to Elliott’s comfort and how his body was responding beneath him. Both he and Elliott let out a groan as he buries himself all the way inside Elliott, Gibraltar’s hands massaging Elliott’s calves as he remains unmoving for the moment, just watching his partner’s expression for a cue to continue further.

Elliott feels so fucking _full_ , drunk on the indulgence of it all already, without even taking into consideration what his decoy had planned for him. Even _he_ has to take a moment to savour it, when usually he’d be already demanding Makoa speed up the pace and _fuck_ him already. 

He meets his boyfriend’s eyes, and the love, and the awe, and the _desire_ that he feels for him in that moment. He can’t reach his face where he’s positioned, so instead lays his hand over his, where it grips his thigh and squeezes it meaningfully.

And there’s that smile, the one that’s earned him a multitude of nicknames, many of which had been conjured up by Elliott himself before he got to actually _know_ the other man. Mister Fucking Sunshine: definitely not his finest work and one he’d become quite embarrassed of once they’d become friends, but hell, with a grin like that...

“I got you,” he murmurs, in that voice of his, smooth as silk, before straightening up and giving an experimental snap of the hips. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” Elliott curses, digging his nails into the bed and bunching up the sheets beneath them. It was only the barest of thrusts but it has him strangling back a sob at how fucking _good_ it feels after what feels like, at this stage, fucking _years_ of wanting. As Makoa draws back out, he lets out a yell as his head is suddenly wrenched back by his hair at the exact same time. 

He’s confronted by his very own face, grinning dangerously down at him. 

“Ready for another try?” they tease, thumbing open his lower lip. “I know how much you’ve always wanted _both_ holes filled at the exact same time.”

Coincidence or no, Makoa fucks into him that bit more firmly upon overhearing that. Elliott’s face is aflame, his vision partially blurred by the tears of desperation already beginning to form in his eyes, and the thought that Gibraltar is just as turned on as he is by this does nothing to alleviate how goddamn how overwhelming this all is. Overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

He nods weakly at his holographic reflection, and they give his cheek a light smack as a reply.

“I can’t _hear_ you,” they purr, already soothingly rubbing the stung skin. Their light sparks away from their fingers as it comes into contact against his beard and its stubble. 

“Yes,” he whimpers, as Makoa pulls out and drives into him again, “I want -- I want -- I want your cock, _please_.”

They laugh, fondly, before guiding him back down onto the mattress so that he’s at a better angle. When Gibraltar pushes into him again, his spine arches with a fucking _scream_ , because oh _God_ , maybe his decoy might be an actual genius because it has Makoa hitting his prostate already and sending what feels like mini-earthquakes of pleasure coursing through his entire body.

The thumb that his decoy had been using to play with his lower lip suddenly digs in behind his teeth, pushing open his jaw so as to accommodate their cock. Elliott’s mouth falls open a little more eagerly than he’d care to admit, and they waste little time pushing in as much of their prick inside as he could take.

He closes his eyes, allows himself to sink into the very thrill of being penetrated in both his arse and his mouth. Elliott likes to think he’s had his fair share of ‘interesting’ rolls in the hay, but this most definitely takes the cake. The weight of his decoy’s cock hangs heavy on his tongue, whilst at the same time he can feel his boyfriend’s pace gradually up the tempo of his thrusts, hear his breathing become increasingly rapid. He usually prefers to take his time with Elliott, likes to touch him everywhere _but_ his dick until Elliott is _begging_ for it, and even then when he takes him, he takes his time, fucks him slowly, savouring every last moment of being inside of him, watching Elliott’s face as he comes apart beneath him. 

But apparently he, too, was struggling to keep himself together, not with the performance Elliott and his copy were giving him.

His replica keeps the back of his head cupped in their hand as they, too, begin to properly rock their hips and fuck into his mouth. Now that he’s more familiar with the new, strange thrill of holographic cock in his mouth, he’s able to let his head loll backwards that bit more, focus on the act of sucking it off instead. For someone who is so demanding about receiving pleasure, he’s always quite enjoyed giving head: something about the praise that accompanied it, as well as -- as embarrassing as it was -- having someone else take control of him, of being dominated in the most delectable fucking way. 

The position doesn’t particularly lend itself to his usual way of sucking cock; he liked to add a little flair of the tongue to the act, lick slow, languorous circles around the crown as he coyly gazed up beneath dark eyelashes at his partner. All he can really do now is work on opening his throat around them each time they slide their dick in and out of his mouth. Fortunately, another apparent added ‘benefit’ of fucking a copy of yourself is that they seemed to know his _own_ threshold too, never pushing in too deep, but just as eager as he was to see how much Elliott could swallow.

“Yeah,” they breathe, splaying the fingers that cup the back of his head and grazing the shaved fade of his hair. “That’s good. _God_ , you look good like that.” 

Elliott shudders, and the decoy presses down on his collarbone, holding his shoulders steady so that they slide their dick a little deeper inside. His eyes are squeezed shut, but he can _feel_ their balls close to his face, feel his own sweat and tears dripping down -- no, _up?_ \-- his forehead and tangling in his hairline rather than his beard. It was all so fucking strange and new and making his blood fucking _sing_ , especially as --

Each time he moans around his decoy’s cock and manages to swallow a little bit more, each time he arcs his spine into a bow as he lifts it off the bed and snaps his neglected dick into nothing, Makoa holds him a little tighter, answering the needy, desperate rolling of his hips with a sharper thrust. 

“The big guy thinks so too,” his replica remarks, their tone coquettish. “You should see the way he looks at us.” 

Elliott groans at that mental image, desperately wishing that he _could_ see. The muffled cry opens the back of their throat that bit further, and his decoy buries their cock just short of all the way to the hilt. His toes curl, using the strength of his legs to pull Makoa tighter, _deeper_ , inside of him at the exact same time.

“Ell,”” Makoa pants, clearly still fighting with all he had to hold himself back, a touch of concern in his voice. “S’-- _ahh_ , you o-okay?”

Hard to answer, with a mouthful of dick and everything, but he tries to communicate by reassuringly squeezing his hand again, where it still grasped Elliott’s waist, His copy makes an amused noise, lifting themselves up just ever-so-slightly, but taking care to not let their cock slip free of Elliott’s mouth,

“He’s doing just fine,” he hears them whisper, huskily. “He takes cock like a champ. But you probably know that better than anyone, huh?” 

Elliott feels his face burning; he wasn’t aware it could turn any redder than it was already, but apparently…

He can feel them lean a little closer to Makoa, their free hand moving and for a blessed moment he thinks they might be finally touching his own erection, that was smacking back against his stomach with each snap of Makoa’s hips, pre-cum smeared across his abdomen, but --

“He misses your mouth though,” they purr, “and can’t say I really blame him, look at you…”

Then there’s a distinctive noise that he recognises as lips moving against another’s and oh _fuck_ , they’re really kissing right above him, Makoa still steadily fucking into him whist his decoy holds his head steady and continues to piston their hips in and out of his mouth.

He somehow finds himself even _more_ turned-on than ever, whilst simultaneously strangely jealous. 

They break apart from one another with a wet noise and _God_ , Elliott really isn’t sure how much more he can take anymore, not with Makoa striking his prostrate over and over, and the feel of dick brushing the back of his throat: he just feels so fucking _full_. His hands tighten in the bedsheets again, this time into fists, and he must have made some kind of noise that adequately expressed just how much he was being pushed to the limit, because his decoy pulls their cock free of his mouth. 

He moans a little at the loss, but quickly forgets when he props himself up and sees the way Gibraltar is staring at him, hair fallen completely loose from its tie and hanging matted and sweat-soaked around his face. He was flushing a similar shade of crimson as he, and clearly was also being pushed dangerously close to the brink. 

“M--Makoaa- _aah_ … _Fuck_ , please, come, I wanna come, wanna see you come, I _want_ \--”

Gibraltar gives a guttural groan, squeezing him tighter. 

“ _God_ , Ell, _fuck_ \-- yeah, yeah, okay, _Ell_ \--”

His replica intervenes, reaching between them and mercifully, finally, wrapping their hand around his prick. He fucking _howls_ at that, and then again as they begin to jerk him off, matching the speed to Makoa’s cock driving into him again and again, at an increasingly erratic pace and the heat is pooling in his gut, the pleasure thrumming through him, engulging him entirely, his whole body shaking now as he cries out Makoa’s name and again like a prayer, his decoy edging him on, crooning in a hushed chant ‘ _come for us, come for us, come for us,_ ” -- 

And it’s too much. He comes with a scream, spine snapping up so hard that he might have fucking hurt himself if his replica hadn’t been there pressing him back against their thughs, messily spilling his load all over his own chest. He can hear Makoa’s groans, feel him fuck into him one final time and bury himself there, the warmth of his cum spilling into him and Elliott has never felt so good and so full and so _taken_ in his entire life. 

They stay like that for a moment, panting heavily and shuddering as the odd wave of orgasm washed over them. It’s Gibraltar who moves first, easing Elliott’s legs down gently from where they’d been locked around his neck and shoulders only minutes ago, and back against his chest, his slowly softening cock slipping free from Elliott’s arse as he does so. Elliott grimaces as his post-orgasm haze is briefly penetrated by his muscles complaining, but Makoa is quick to act, easily locating the source of the pain and massaging his aching quadriceps now that his hands have been freed up. He presses the large pads of his thumbs into a particularly sore spot and Elliott hisses, letting himself drop from his elbows and flop his head back into the decoy’s lap, his eyelids fluttering closed. 

Perks of having a partner that worked for SARAS. Much as Elliott enjoyed the pleasant ache that came with being utterly fucked-out after sex, it was even nicer getting taken care of afterward. Especially with an _expert._

“That was…” Makoa mumbles, his breathing still a little ragged. Elliott peers up at him with a lazy smile, still feeling light-headed from both the intensity of his orgasm as well as the fact _that_ had actually happened. “...amazing. _You_ were amazing.”

There’s this strange feeling of relief that uncurls in his chest, one that he wasn’t even aware had been tightly coiled there. He had still been slightly concerned that once the fog of -- well, _horniness_ \-- had cleared, that Makoa might, at the very least, feel awkward over what had just happened. It wasn’t that he believed Gibraltar was that kind of man -- no, he’d proven again and again just how much he loved Elliott completely, even when he’d seen him at his worst. But it was still a constant uphill battle trying to wrap that fact around his head, when his own self-doubts tried to convince him otherwise.

Arms slip around his upper body, tugging him back and upwards. He recognises them as his replica’s, trying to encourage him to sit up and into an upright position. Makoa notices them and huffs a laugh, helping lift Elliott up so that he’s seated; something for which Elliott is profoundly grateful for because truthfully, his limbs still felt so fucking heavy that he wasn’t entirely sure he would have been able to do the deed himself. 

But his decoy pulls him tighter against their chest and nuzzles against his neck.

“You both were,” they hum, running their hands across Elliott’s pectoral muscles, pausing so as to tweak one of his nipples. Elliott _yelps_ at that, because he’s still too sensitive and the over-stimulation makes it feels like his nerve endings are short-circuiting, but _still_ his cock manages to twitch with arousal. He can feel his copy grinning smugly against the skin of his neck -- no doubt they noticed, of course they did, _curse_ that fucking neural link, because they so clearly found this amusing. But he was a thirty-year-old man and not a damn hard-light hologram. There was only so much _he_ could take.

Well. So much that would be sensible anyway.

His train of thought is broken off as Makoa settles on the bed beside him, placing a hand on his cheek and turning Elliott to look at him, and Elliott finds himself melting slightly at the sight of the warmth that gently simmered in his brown eyes. He pulls him in for a kiss, a brief but tender one, catching his teeth on Elliott’s lower lip as he draws himself back. And then, to his surprise, he turns, and Elliott realises he was cupping his duplicate’s face with his _other_ hand. Makoa draws them close _too_ , pressing his lip against theirs’, to which they reply a tad too greedily. They keep one hand holding Elliott against them, the other slipping up Gibraltar’s neck and into his hair, tugging it eagerly. 

Strangely enough, those earlier feelings of jealousy seem to have dissipated, and Elliott watches the decoy part Makoa’s mouth with their tongue, and oh, _fuck_ , his cock is most _definitely_ beginning to take an interest.

The holo-light copy pulls away from Gibraltar with a filthy grin, and looks between the two of them.

“What do you say, fellahs? Night’s young yet, don’t you think?”

Elliott glances at Makoa, and god fucking _damnit_.

His muscles are screaming at him at just how fucking stupid an idea this was, and he was most _definitely_ gonna pay for it when he woke up the following morning but -- 

He flashes his decoy and identical smirk.

“Just how much more ya think you get left in you?”

***

He was right about one thing.

Just getting out of bed had been worse than the day after a severe beating in the Ring, and he’d had to fucking _limp_ into the shower, pressing his forehead against the tiles as it washed away what felt like a layer of sweat from the night before. The hot water had helped alleviate his aching body, but not by much, so after pulling on a loose tank-top and sweatpants, he was still pretty much limping when he surfaced from his room at the back of the Lounge.

Elliott winces when he’s greeted immediately by blaring music, which meant that Ramya was clearly alive and kicking. The smell of coffee draws his attention however, as well as the sound of distant chattering. Caffeine is too strong a draw for him to ignore, however, and thus he rounds the corner to find that indeed, Ramya had filled the coffee machine and was leaning back behind the bar with a cup, whilst talking to someone seated on one of the bar stools. They turned at his approach, and straightened up with a wry smirk at the sight of him.

“Wraith?” he asks, puzzled.

“I was in the area,” she replies camly, lifting her coffee cup and taking a sip. “Just checking in with Ramya whether you’ve actually paid your bills this month or not.”

He blinks several times, stupidly. Was Ramya doing his paperwork now? Come to think of it, it _had_ been a while since he’d gotten any of those letters with the large red ‘OVERDUE’ stamps on them… But she was only a _kid_ , what did she know about taxes?

His train of thought is interrupted when Wraith arches a single eyebrow at him.

“You look like shit.”

Elliott opens his mouth to protest, but Ramya cuts him off, smacking the coffee machine to get it to splutter to life and start making another cup.

“That’d be because he and the big fellah had quite a night, eh, Witt?”

It, of course, would be at exactly this point that Makoa joins them, still bundling his wet hair up into his hair tie. He slips his hand around Elliott’s waist, and gives Wraith a welcoming smile, having not yet connected the dots as to why she was currently scrunching up her face in distaste.

“Good ta’ see ya, Wraith,” he greets her, turning his head towards Ramya. “Any coffee yet?”

Ramya looks up, flashes them both that wicked gap-toothed smirk of hers’. 

“Sure, mate -- I made plenty, I figured you two would need to recharge the old batteries, eh?” 

She snickers and winks.

“Oh, _yeah_. There I was, just stumblin’ home after a few bevvies with Nita -- and fuckin’ _hell_ , mate, thought this shithole was gonna fall to pieces the rate you lot were goin’.”

Elliott’s face is a deep shade of crimson, and it’s like he can _feel_ Gibraltar’s skin grow hotter where they’re touching one another. He would have thought Wraith would be _begging_ Ramya to shut up, that she didn’t want to know but no, she seems...strangely amused. 

“And y’know, Witt?” Ramya asks, cheerfully, setting the fresh coffee aside and thumping on the machine to get to work grinding another. “The best bit? They just _love_ to talk, doncha mates?”

A decoy comes around from the other side of the bar, wearing their apron and wiping down glasses. They wink at the duo, biting down on their lip as they did.

“He talks a good talk,” they quip, leaning back beside Ramya. “Not quite sure whether he can _walk_ the walk anymore -- least not today, anyway.”

Ramya happily slams both cups of coffee on the bar -- she might be a master weapon maker, but Elliott was finding out she was a god-awful bartender, as further evidenced by the way the coffee slopped over the sides and onto the bar’s surface.

“Why not show us, eh? We all know how much you love your morning coffee? All ya gotta do is come and _get_ it.”

Elliott stood there wordlessly a few moments, wondering if he could force the earth to open up and swallow him whole through the force of sheer will alone. The three of them had their eyes glued on him, expectantly, Wraith barely able to mask her snicker behind her coffee cup. 

He’s thrown off-guard when two arms suddenly sweep him off his feet, too quickly for him to even realise what’s happening. He shakes his head and oh, he most definitely was...significantly taller than everyone else now, and he recognised the familiar, large arms he was wrapped in. 

“Alright, you lot,” Makoa scolds them, although his tone is affably fond, “you had your fun. We’ll skip the coffees. Catch ya later, yeah?”

He turns then, and carries Elliott back to his room, ignoring the protests and sniggering that follow their departure. The door slams shut behind him when they enter, and he carefully settles Elliott down on the bed, all too aware of where he’s hurting.

“You okay?” He asks softly, lowering himself onto one knee to try catch his eye.

Touchingly, he’s worried. It makes Elliott smile, warmly, lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I will be,” he mumbles, before drawing back and finding a control on his bedside table. He only needs to press a single button, and immediately his hard-light replica snaps into existence before them.

Elliott winces as he swings himself up onto the bed properly, scooting himself back so that he's space to spread his legs, and look at them sternly.

“I think you and that big mouth of yours’ have some making up to do.”

His cock is already creating a tent in the fabric of his sweatpants, and the decoy glances at it, before looking back up at him and licking his lips.

"Do I have to _apologise_ to the big guy too?"

Elliott laces his fingers behind his head, and turns to grin at Gibraltar. He's blinks in surprise, but his expression soon shifts into a wicked grin.

"That depends how well ya do," he says, pulling himself up to his feet and hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his sweatpants. "For now, I'll be watching."

The decoy laughs, and crawls in between Elliott's legs whilst Gibraltar settles back and prepares himself to start seeing _double._


End file.
